


Recreational Flirting

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Fic, First Time, Hats, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right up until a quarter of one on November 13, Elizabeth prided herself on not falling for Neal Caffrey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recreational Flirting

**Author's Note:**

> Set early in season 1. In which I jump on the El-wearing-Neal's-hat bandwagon, because _nnnnrgh!_
> 
> Many many thanks to Sage and mergatrude for beta. &lt;3

**Friday lunchtime**

Right up until a quarter of one on November 13, Elizabeth prided herself on not falling for Neal Caffrey. She liked him, and she recognized that he was smart, thoughtful, engaging and impossibly pretty, but El had always preferred genuine to glib, and more importantly, she loved Peter. That was all there was to it. So the jolt of attraction she felt when Neal caught up with her by the elevators and gave her his hat was startling as well as unwelcome.

Five minutes earlier, she'd been in Peter's office, having dropped by on her lunch break to get Peter to sign some papers for the bank. "Allie says now's the time to refinance," she told him, "and I think she's right."

Elizabeth generally managed their private finances—they both preferred it that way—but when it came to signing contracts, Peter was every bit as detail-focused as he was when working a case, so El sat in his office, fidgeting while he pored over forty-five pages of fine print. She made a couple of quick work calls, and then strolled over to the window, taking Neal's fedora from the top of Peter's in-tray and twirling it between her fingers, before trying it on and adjusting it to suit the ghost of her reflection in the window.

It looked good. She tipped it forward to a more provocative angle so the brim shadowed her eyes and she caught its faint drifting scent of cologne and wool.

A sharp inhalation from the doorway broke the silence, and she turn on her heel to survey the room. Peter's gaze was fixed on her, his body tense, his face flushed, but the sound had come from Neal, who was frozen in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at Peter.

El tingled with awareness just as the heat in Peter's expression was shuttered away. For a long, revealing moment, the three of them formed a tableau, and then Peter's desk phone rang and time started up again.

"Burke here," Peter said into the handset, picking up a pen and tapping it against his blotter as if his fingers needed something to occupy them.

Elizabeth went over to Neal.

"Hi," she said, drawing his attention away from Peter, hiding a smile at how thrown he seemed. El understood better than anyone that Peter had stealth sex appeal—at first glance he could seem perfectly ordinary, even dowdy, and the next moment he was weakening knees right, left and center. Neal's included, apparently, though he was swiftly recovering his composure.

It hadn't occurred to her before that Neal might be attracted to men, in addition to his famed star-crossed devotion to Kate, but she found it didn't surprise her. He was as attentive to Peter as she'd seen him be to any woman, if not more, and while Elizabeth was fairly certain that was rooted in professional self-interest, Neal was also the kind of person for whom a meeting of the minds was like lifeblood. She should have anticipated that Peter's intellect would be of far more importance to Neal than his sex.

She couldn't feel bad for Neal, though; he seemed to be attracted to ninety percent of the other people on the planet too, and he'd known from day one that Peter was spoken for. As was she, and that didn't stop him from flirting with her, either.

"Elizabeth," he said in greeting. His warm gaze flicked up to the hat still on her head. "It looks good on you. There's something so seductive about a beautiful woman in a man's hat. Peter obviously agrees." His tone was light-hearted, but he was standing too close for the compliment to be appropriate.

"Oh hush," she said, blushing despite herself and stepping back. She took off the fedora and handed it to him. "What Peter finds seductive is none of your business."

He opened his mouth, no doubt to say something even more scandalous. Before he could, Peter ended his phone call and stood up.

"We have to get to La Guardia right away. Stevenson's with airport security." He scrawled his signature on the final page of the mortgage document, initialed the other half dozen places flagged with post-it notes and handed it to El, then grabbed his holster from the coat rack.

El had to remind herself that the gun was just a precaution; wearing it didn't mean he was expecting to get shot at. She gathered together her purse and the papers, and headed for the door. "Good luck," she said. "Call me if you're going to be late."

"I'll make sure he does," Neal told her, and Elizabeth resisted rolling her eyes and pointing out that their marriage had survived ten years without his intervention.

"I'd appreciate it," she said instead, and left, reflecting that while Neal's attraction to Peter was almost predictable, once she fully considered the situation, it was a surprise to find Peter reacting so strongly to her wearing Neal's hat. But perhaps it was stretching things to take that at more than face value. Perhaps Neal was right; sometimes a hat was just a hat. She pressed the down button on the elevator.

Neal appeared at her elbow, fedora in hand.

"Aren't you guys supposed to be out the door?" she asked, looking past him for Peter.

He nodded. "Any second now. Peter's briefing Hughes." Neal was bright-eyed and ready for action, as if his life was one big adventure, and El's defenses collapsed. She had to fight the urge to touch him. She glanced up at the floor numbers above the elevator, reminding herself of the many reasons she shouldn't be thinking about Neal Caffrey like that.

"Elizabeth, would you mind if I left this with you for safe-keeping?" Neal held out his hat.

She raised her eyebrows. "Can't you leave it here?"

He gave her a puppy-dog look that made her laugh. "It looks good on you. I'm sure Peter would—" Neal broke off as Peter barreled up to them with Cruz and Jones in tow.

"Let's go."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. El stepped inside and was crowded into the corner by Peter and his team. Only then did she realize she was holding the damned hat. She held it down at her side, out of sight, and Peter was too busy talking about jurisdiction and warrants for arrest, and responding witheringly to Neal's flippant suggestions to pay her any heed.

She squeezed past them into the lobby, and the elevator doors closed to take them down to the parking garage.

"Good luck," she said again, giving them a little wave through the shrinking gap. "Don't get shot." Just as the doors came together, Peter turned to her and she saw him register the fedora in her hand, his eyes narrowing, head tilting as if it were a clue.

Thankfully, the doors closed fully then, so he didn't see her blush.

 

**Friday night**

"Why do you have Neal's hat?" It was the first thing Peter said when he walked in the door that evening, out before he even took off his coat.

El looked up from her laptop. "Did you catch Stevenson?"

"Yeah, we did." Peter came and stood over her. "What's with the hat, El?"

The object in question was in the center of the table.

"Neal gave it to me for safe-keeping." Elizabeth widened her eyes and did her best to look innocent, which should have been easier than it was, given she hadn't done anything wrong.

Peter's gaze narrowed. "He couldn't leave it at the office?"

"Maybe he thought someone would take it."

"Or maybe he's trying to—" Peter pressed his lips together and dropped into the chair next to her.

She raised her eyebrows and waited. Peter was wearing his guilty schoolboy expression, and El had a heart-stopping moment of fear that she was losing him to Neal, and that the hat was her consolation prize.

But that was ridiculous. It was like assuming there'd been a car crash when Peter was late home, or worrying about him being shot when she knew he spent ninety-five percent of his field time in the surveillance van and he was smart and careful and experienced. Peter was not going to leave her for Neal Caffrey!

"I—" said Peter. "Neal and I—"

Oh God! El covered his hand on the table. "What is it?"

Peter sighed, and then said, obviously trying to sound casual, "I think Neal's attracted to me. Physically. I mean, I know he is."

She held on to her composure with all her might. "Has he done anything? Has he tried to do anything?"

"No. No, of course not. I would have told you." Peter winced and added, slowly, "But sometimes I want him to. I never had feelings like this for a man, El. It's not how it's supposed to go—and you know how much I love you. When you tried on his hat today—" He shook his head. "—I think I short-circuited something."

El breathed, letting that settle: the admission; the knowledge that nothing had happened; the reassurance that Peter loved her first and foremost. "Oh honey," she said, and nudged him so he moved his chair back and she could sit on his lap. "Everyone gets crushes. It's human nature."

He put his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. She hugged him back.

"And Neal is very attractive," she continued, teasing him. "I think there's a national consensus on that."

"Too attractive," said Peter darkly. "He's a peacock." But his body relaxed under her.

El pulled back and batted her eyelashes at him. "You want me to wear the peacock tail for you?" She reached behind her for the hat and put it on, slanting it sideways and laughing at his response. "You like that, huh?"

His breath caught and his eyes darkened, and when he kissed her, it was with an intensity that made her pulse race and overrode everything else. She pushed him and his chair even further out from the table so she could straddle him, and as she reached for his belt buckle, he groaned into her mouth and smoothed his hands insistently across her back under her blouse and down to her hips, pulling her hard up against him.

 

**Monday morning**

Peter took the hat with him to work on Monday morning, to return it to Neal. Against heavy odds, it had survived the weekend unscathed—there was every chance Neal would never know its secrets unless Peter betrayed himself, and as long as El practiced discretion.

There was only so much discretion a woman could survive, however, so after Elizabeth's ten o'clock client meeting, she handed the reins to Yvonne, and El drove up to New Haven to see her big sister, Jude, who'd broken her arm playing softball and was stuck at home. El gave her a get-well bouquet and a sympathetic hug, and made them both coffee. "Is Kenny around?"

Jude sat on a stool at the breakfast bar and rested her cast on the counter. "I wish! If he was here, I could make him fetch and carry for me, and entertain me, but no, he went back to school last week. Stupid college!"

"I'm a terrible aunt," El said, shaking her head. "I should keep better track of these things."

"Yeah, because you don't have enough else to do," said Jude, wryly. "What did you want him for?"

El busied herself emptying the dishwasher. "I want to send an untraceable email, and I figured if anyone could show me how, it'd be him."

"How untraceable? I mean, can't you just get a hotmail or gmail account and not tell anyone it's you?" Jude raised her eyebrows. "What are you up to, kid?"

"Nothing!" said El, bending down to put away some saucepans and refusing to meet her sister's eye. "It's just for fun. I want to see if I can scam Peter."

"Oh." Jude grinned. "Well, you're going to have to raise your game for that one, and I don't know much about encryption." She pulled her laptop closer. "Have you asked google?"

El laughed. "Are you kidding? Kenny was my first port of call."

"And I thought you'd come to see me," said Jude, balling up a takeout menu and throwing it at El's head. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." She typed one-handed for a moment, with lots of deleting and frowning, and El finished wiping the counter and sat down next to her, looking over her shoulder.

They spent the rest of the morning figuring out email encryption and the important factors in preserving anonymity, while a nervous excitement fizzed in El's stomach. Even though she already knew word for word what she would say, she still wasn't sure she was actually going to go through with her plan. Peter would be horrified on several counts if he ever found out—and being Peter, it was inevitable that he would. Sometimes being married to a brilliant detective had its drawbacks. But the impulse was irresistible; why should Neal be the only one who got to say outrageous things?

El folded her arms tightly, hugging herself to keep the fizz inside, and carried out a perfectly normal conversation about her nephew's grades and her sister's plans for remodeling the guest room, pretending that it was a regular Monday just like any other.

 

**Monday afternoon**

_Who knew a hat could be such a powerful aphrodisiac? Oh, right. I guess you did._

El's cursor hovered over the Send button. This was foolish. Neal would know exactly who had sent it and what it meant, and he'd presume upon Peter, maybe even use it against him. She couldn't be sure he'd understand that it was payback for his inappropriate remarks, and did Neal even have scruples? She was about to close the window without sending the message when Satchmo ran up with a cucumber in his mouth.

"Oh, Satch, no! Where did you get that?" said El, and accidentally clicked her mouse button.

Email sent. She took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. She didn't have to tell Neal the email address she'd created for him; he need never know. In fact, she still hadn't figured out how she was going to convey that information. She took the cucumber off Satchmo and put him outside in the yard to meditate on his sins. As she did so, the perfect mode of transmission occurred to her. So perfect that she had to follow through on it, if only to see if Neal was as good as his reputation claimed.

She took the subway to 125th Street and dropped in on her friend Cody at work. "Can I borrow your computer to print something out?"

"Sure, I just have to finish this contract for one of the partners—give me five minutes?" Cody rattled away at the keys, and Elizabeth sat in his visitor's chair, hands clasped tightly together.

Fifteen minutes later, she was on her way home, leaving behind Cody's assurance that he'd be discreet and, in Cody's out-tray, a plain white card with Neal's name and address printed neatly on one half, and the email address and password she'd created for him embossed in Braille on the other.

It wasn't until she was standing on the train on the way home, squashed between a large businessman who smelled of beer and two women in parkas speaking a language El didn't recognize, that commonsense caught up with her again. She stared at the subway tunnel walls flicking past as they neared a station.

She was out of her mind—that was the only plausible explanation.

 

**Wednesday night**

Elizabeth would have confessed to Peter on Monday night, but he called to say he'd be late and by the time he got home, he looked dead to the world. The next night she worked late herself, so it wasn't until Wednesday that El turned to Peter in the movie theater as the lights came up and they took off their 3-D glasses, and said in a rush, "I sent Neal an anonymous email."

Peter looked confused. "What?"

She told him the whole story.

"You made him an email address?" Peter sounded more amused than anything else. "What was it?"

"Adonis in Manhattan at gmail dot com," she said. "It seemed appropriate."

Peter laughed. "That'll keep him on his toes," he said. "Maybe it'll even distract him from Kate. Neal loves a challenge."

"You're not mad?" El took his hand and squeezed it. "It's not going to make things weird for you?"

Peter squeezed back. "Trust me, if there's one thing Neal Caffrey understands, it's recreational flirting."

 

**Friday**

All week, El had been unable to resist checking the anonymous email service she'd used to email Neal, just in case he replied. She checked it even before he could conceivably have received the card, and at least twice a day thereafter. On Friday at 8.30am, there was a reply. It was only six words long—_Now that's a nice mental picture!_—but there was an attachment: a scan of a charcoal sketch. It was a woman from behind, a nude, her head turned to reveal a glimpse of rounded jaw line, her dark hair falling carelessly about her shoulders. Her head topped with a fedora. The drawing was only from the waist up, and the woman had no specific identifying features, but it was a sensual, attentive study, and El knew it was of her.

Neal had thought about her naked. He'd drawn her.

El was equal parts enchanted and scandalized. They'd crossed a line, and she wasn't sure who was to blame. She logged out and fled to the safety of work, clutching her shoulder bag and wondering what it would take to put this particular genie back in its bottle.

Two hours later, at an internet café in midtown, she logged in and sent Neal: _Too much._

 

**Thursday**

The following Thursday, a courier brought two long-stemmed red roses to Elizabeth's door, accompanied by a small bottle of expensive cologne and a card that simply said _Better?_ El raised her eyebrows at the velvety petals, and laughed at the cologne as she put it away in a drawer.

 

**Wednesday**

Peter's cellphone went straight to voicemail, so El left a message and then tried his office number. Neal answered. "Elizabeth. What's up?"

"I need to talk to Peter," she said. The waiting room teemed with people who were pale and tired and scared. A baby was crying, and a boy was thumping the side of the vending machine, despite his father's rebukes.

"He's in court for the Govat trial. It sounds like you're staging a riot. Where are you?"

El hugged herself with her free arm. "I'm at Lennox Hill Emergency. We—"

"I'll be right there," Neal interrupted and hung up.

El frowned at her phone. She pressed redial but there was no answer. She didn't have Neal's cellphone number—there was nothing to do but wait.

Twenty minutes later, Neal turned up, out of breath. El almost laughed, despite everything. "It's not me—I'm fine," she said, before he could ask. She put down her styrafoam coffee cup. "Yvonne and I were testing a PA system, and she had a seizure, but she's okay now. They're running some tests."

Neal took a deep breath, and El could see his mask slide into place, all-purpose charm covering his genuine concern and relief. "Thank God for that," he said lightly. "Peter would fall apart if anything happened to you."

On impulse, she hugged him. "Thanks for coming."

His arms closed around her in response—a cloak of comfort and support—and it felt wonderful. She was tired with worry and trying to stay calm, and she didn't want to pull away. She settled against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and he tightened his embrace. They stood like that until the doctor came over.

"Mrs. Burke? You can see her now."

El blinked and stepped back, out of Neal's arms. "Right. Okay. Thank you." She couldn't meet Neal's eye.

 

**Friday evening**

Yvonne was discharged from the hospital and had gone to stay with her parents in Queens, and the private birthday luncheon they'd organized had gone off without a hitch, despite everything. El arrived home mid-afternoon and treated herself to a glass of Chardonnay and a bubble bath.

Afterward, she put on sweatpants and a t-shirt, and dabbed Neal's cologne behind her ears. She was a happily married woman, and she shouldn't be indulging in flights of fancy, but surely a little cologne couldn't do any harm.

She curled up on the sofa with a book and Satch to keep her company, until Peter got home.

"Good day?" she asked, swinging her feet to the floor so he could sit beside her.

He petted Satch, who wandered off to the kitchen, and Peter slouched back among the cushions, loosened his tie and sighed. "I'm not sure. Neal's up to something, and I don't know what. He keeps looking angelically innocent."

"Maybe it's a double bluff." El leaned in and kissed him. "Maybe he just wants to make sure you're paying attention."

"Well, it's the weekend now, and I'm paying attention to my wife," he told her, nuzzling her neck, which quickly turned into actual necking, followed by breathless, urgent love-making on the couch, slipping onto the floor halfway through though El was barely aware of that, carried along on a tide of passion and pleasure. Afterward, they lay tangled together on the rug.

"Ow," said El, laughing. "That's going to leave a bruise."

"I'll kiss it better." Peter rolled her onto her side and kissed her hip extravagantly, then took her mouth again, before burying his face in her hair and holding her close. His shirt was hanging open and El pushed it off his shoulder and kissed his chest.

"El," he said slowly, pulling back to look her in the eye, "why are you wearing Neal's cologne?"

"Oh." She felt a complicated twist of embarrassment and satisfaction. "Peacock's tail?"

The corners of his mouth turned down. "Between the two of you, it's a wonder I haven't lost my mind."

"I think I—" El threaded her fingers through his and held on. "I might be in danger of losing mine."

He kissed her nose, apparently not shocked at all by this revelation. "That's evident."

"The brilliant detective strikes again." She stretched cat-like, relieved by his calm response, and then poked him in the ribs. "_But I'm always true to you, darlin', in my fashion—_" she sang softly, and laughed again when he glared at her in fond exasperation.

"It's becoming apparent that I have a type," said Peter. It was obviously supposed to be a reproach, but it failed miserably.

"So," said El, taking his face in her hands. "Now what?"

Later that night, in the comfort of their bed, they made love again, and perhaps El should have felt put out or threatened when Neal's name slipped from Peter's lips, but she didn't. Instead, it was as if her heart had grown three sizes.

Peter's breath leveled out into sleep, and El lay beside him, sweaty and sated, wondering if this was just a temporary aberration, this attraction she and Peter shared for Neal Caffrey, consummate dallier, or whether it was the start of something that would re-shape their lives. Neal kept his affections buried under layers of play-acting, and it was difficult to tell where his sincerity lay. And even if he did care for them—for both of them—he wasn't the most likely candidate for joining in their quiet domesticity.

Still, if he did—if they could somehow swing it, all of them—that would be something else. That would really be something else.

 

**Saturday**

On her way to the grocery store, El stopped by a local internet café. She looked at the portrait again, able to appreciate it properly now. It was beautiful, the lines confident and softly curved. She could almost feel the stroke of charcoal on her skin. She resolutely closed the pop-up and sent another email to adonis.in.manhattan@gmail.com. Just four words: _He said your name._

She didn't know if Neal was keeping tabs on the email address—it didn't matter. She needed to say it to someone, and there was no one else she could tell.

 

**Wednesday**

Peter and Neal were at the dining-room table when El got home. There was a series of small mismatched wooden boxes laid out between them, along with a six-inch-high stack of case files, a Rubik's cube, some empty takeout containers and coffee cups, and Neal's hat.

"You're saying he hid the code inside the boxes?" said Peter, picking up the smallest box and frowning at it.

"No, the boxes are the code." Neal lined up the remaining boxes, leaving a gap for the one Peter was holding. "The order of the boxes—their size and the direction they're facing—creates a sequence, which translates into a set of directions."

"And the Rubik's cube?" asked El, sitting down at the head of the table.

Neal grinned. "That's a gift. Peter said he didn't have one."

"So I get roses and cologne, and Peter gets a Rubik's cube," mused El out loud. "I think I'm winning."

Neal's grin faded, and silence blanketed the room. Peter sat back, and Neal tensed, watching him.

"I didn't mean—" started El in dismay, trying to backpedal, but Peter held up his hand.

"I guess now's as good a time as any." He leaned forward again, folded his elbows on the table and met Neal's gaze squarely. "I talked to Hughes. He's agreed to take over 'ownership' of you."

Neal went pale and opened his mouth to speak.

Peter forestalled him with a look and continued. "You'll still work with me, but I won't be legally responsible for you anymore."

"But—" Neal frowned. He glanced at El, who was trying not to smile, then back to Peter. "Okay," he said, radiating uncertainty.

"If you piss Hughes off, you're back in prison," Peter warned, "so don't."

Neal's eyebrows twitched. "But I can piss you off?"

"Isn't that your role in life?" Now that Peter had delivered the serious news, his expression was wry. He turned the small wooden box over in his hand. "What did you have in mind?"

Neal seemed so mesmerized by Peter that his answer took El by surprise. "Can I kiss your wife?"

Peter didn't even blink. "That's up to her. El?"

"What did you tell Reese?" she asked, feeling her cheeks grow hot in anticipation, but not willing to be used as a pawn.

Peter set the box he was holding into its place in the sequence on the table. Neal reached across and rotated it ninety degrees as if he couldn't help himself.

Peter batted his hands away. "I said that you and I had both grown fond of Neal, that I couldn't trust myself to act impartially, but that Neal was still a great asset to the Bureau and I wanted to find a way to make our arrangement work."

El nodded and turned to Neal, who was sitting there, all good looks and tailored shirt and pristine tie. "How many people have you kissed this week?"

"This week since Sunday or 'this week' meaning the last seven days?" Neal looked almost nervous.

El arched an eyebrow; if he was going to be pedantic, she was going to make it hard on him. Not that his answer would make any difference. "Seven days."

"None," he said, promptly. "Yet. I live in hope."

El laughed, glanced at Peter, and then got up and went over to Neal. He swiveled to face her, still seated, and she stood between his knees and put her hands on his face, admiring him, taking her time crossing the line to physical intimacy. This was Neal, unpredictable, reckless and flirtatious, but he'd kept Peter safe from Govat when he didn't have to, at risk to himself, he'd come to her at the hospital and held her when she needed comfort, and he hadn't tried to use the emails against her. He was brilliant and unexpectedly kind, and despite everything, she trusted him. And oh boy, he was beautiful. His breath wasn't quite steady, but then neither was hers, and Peter was watching them, waiting.

El bent to press her mouth to his. He tasted sweet, his mouth soft under hers, moving, and he smelled of that same cologne. His hands landed on her hips, guiding her closer until his thighs were pressed hot against hers. An ache gathered low in her belly, and she shivered and stepped back before she lost herself completely. Peter was watching.

"Was it really me you wanted to kiss?" she asked, holding Neal's gaze. "Tell the truth."

He gave her a helpless look, as if he wanted to evade but couldn't. "I want to kiss both of you. There was a better chance of you saying yes."

The legs of Peter's chair scraped the floor. "You think that because you don't have accurate and complete information," he said, his face flushed.

"Peter—" Neal turned slowly.

"Neal." Peter stood up, and El's heart swelled with love for him. She wanted to give him everything. She wanted to give him Neal.

"He said your name," she told Neal, meaningfully, echoing the third email, the one he might not have read. Making it as plain as she could that she wasn't talking about now.

"I know, but—" Neal took her wrist and hung on like it was a lifeline.

"If you hurt him, I'll break both your legs," she said. "And set fire to your hat."

"El!" Peter sounded appalled.

She kept her eyes on Neal. "I mean it."

"I know," said Neal. "You're scaring me."

"Good." She put her hand on his shoulder and kissed his forehead, then urged him to his feet, so he and Peter were facing each other across the cluttered tabletop.

"You don't have to be sure," Peter told him. "Jesus, this is—"

"It's okay," said Neal, quickly. "You guys have something great here. I don't want to screw it up."

"You can't," El assured him. She stepped back and dragged the table out from between them, lifting the end so the legs cleared the carpet and abandoning it haphazardly in the living room. One of the takeout containers fell to the floor, but she didn't care: Peter and Neal were moving toward each other, both of them serious and careful.

Peter reached out and clasped Neal's upper arm, and Neal made a rough inarticulate sound and closed the distance between them, his hands visibly shaking as he touched Peter's face.

Peter wrapped his arms around him and El's pulse started racing at the sight of them, their lips finally coming together, first tentative, then urgent and greedy. That's my husband, she told herself. My husband is kissing Neal Caffrey.

She waited for doubt or trepidation or hysteria to take hold, but all she could find in herself was a fierce joy that expanded as she watched their embrace deepen and intensify, both of them breathing hard.

Peter groaned, and Neal pushed him back against the bookcase and leaned into him bodily. El moved toward them, captivated by the details: Peter's blunt fingertips stroking lightly down Neal's throat; Neal's hand clutching Peter's waist so hard his knuckles were white; the shuffle of Neal's feet as he angled closer still.

She moved right up into their space, breathing in their scents, musk and heat. Their arms opened to her, drawing her in. She kissed Peter first—from this new angle, he almost seemed a stranger, but he was still and would always be her Peter—and then Neal, more familiar than he should be. Neal, who slotted into place with them as if he belonged. She kissed him while Peter mouthed her neck and unbuttoned her dress, his hands all over her. She gasped and had to sling her arm around Neal's shoulders to keep herself upright.

Neal moved sideways to give Peter more access. "This is a whole new side of you," he remarked breathlessly to El.

El moaned under Peter's touch, then forced herself to reply. "Like it?"

She opened her eyes. Neal was watching her with undisguised appreciation, taking the opportunity to remove his tie. His arousal was obvious.

"Come back here," said El, softly, reeling him in.

The corner of his mouth turned up, a new tenderness there, and he obeyed, but then dropped to his knees before her without warning and huffed hotly through the fabric of her dress, making her gasp.

"You don't have to," she said, just to be sure, but he was already there, unceremoniously pushing aside her skirt and underwear, nuzzling his way up her inner thigh, while Peter held her and kissed her mouth, pulling back now and then to watch.

"Oh fuck," said El. "Oh—_Neal_." It was rising up in her already, cataclysmic pleasure that threatened to send her spinning off into space. She shifted her weight and nearly sobbed with relief when he helped her hitch her leg over his shoulder so she could ride him, his fingers inside her, his tongue edging her further and further into madness.

Peter's arms were around her, his cock hard against her hip, and his mouth fervent. El gave up any notion of balance and trusted him to keep her from falling. She rocked forward in counterpoint to the tiny perfect movements of Neal's tongue, until her orgasm slammed into her, wave after wave, making her cry out.

And still she stayed with it, quivering, as the darkness receded and her body turned to warm honey and silky satisfaction. Then, finally, she withdrew, lowering her leg, the muscles protesting, and raising herself away from Neal's fingers and mouth. "Fuck," she said.

Peter's eyebrows went up, eyes crinkling. "Is that an order?"

"Do you want it to be?" El pulled Neal to his feet and kissed him deeply, his mouth lush with her, and then she watched with satisfaction as he and Peter kissed each other. She slid down to the floor, her body still throbbing, and sat with her back to the bookcase, looking up at them pressing together, at the intensity of every caress. They were in love, she realized belatedly. This wasn't just attraction or a crush. It was so plain now, written over all of them, that she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it sooner. They loved each other and she loved Neal. The knowledge was frightening and exhilarating, and El tugged on Peter's pants leg, urging him down to the floor, needing them closer if only to stop her from over-thinking the whole thing.

But instead, Peter helped her up and the three of them stumbled as a group to the couch, where they collapsed, Neal in the middle and Peter half on top of him, groping him through his pants, grunting when Neal mirrored him. El wrapped herself around Neal from behind, undoing the last two buttons of his shirt and smoothing across his bare chest as he and Peter wordlessly negotiated space and clothing, fumbled past pants and underwear, and began stroking each other. Peter, one knee on the couch and his other foot braced on the floor, rocked into Neal's fist, murmuring broken syllables and nonsense, until Neal swore and sped his hand as if he couldn't hold back a second longer. As if he needed Peter's release as much as Peter did.

His shoulder blade was digging rhythmically into El's breast, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The weight of them was almost too much, but that too just brought home the awkward, perfect reality of Neal and Peter right here. She closed her eyes and felt the tectonic plates of her life shift with their bodies, landscapes crushed and re-formed. Peter's groan of surrender was fundamental and subterranean, and Neal's muffled cry, the sound that closed a chasm El hadn't known was there.

 

**Thursday morning**

Rain was pattering against the window. El woke slowly between two warm bodies, slightly achy from the night before but in no way complaining, slightly overheated but unwilling to trade her current position for anything. Peter, still asleep, was in front with his arm slung heavy across her hip, and Neal was behind, leaning over her, softly kissing along her shoulder to the nape of her neck. She arched into the caress, then rolled onto her back so she could look up at him in the half-light filtering through the curtains. "Hey."

"You have a tattoo," he murmured. "If I'd known, I'd have put it in the drawing."

"There's a lot you don't know," she told him, sleepily. "Buy me dinner and I'll tell you everything."

"It's a date," said Neal, and El pulled him down to kiss her.

"Mmm, Neal Caffrey morning breath. Who knew?"

"There's a lot you don't know," he said, wickedly, sliding his hand down over her belly until it ran into the barrier of Peter's arm. Peter grunted and half woke up. "Whasstime?"

"Early," said El.

"Play time," said Neal, sounding far too awake. "Time for shenanigans."

Peter's hand tightened, snaked up and caught his wrist. "El, there's a convict in our bed."

"I know, honey," she told him, snuggling back against him, luxuriating in the sensual warmth of both men, and the fact that they still had over half an hour together before they had to get up. "You know what they say—why settle for the tail when you can have the whole peacock?"

Peter laughed in her ear, and El joined in, more entertained by Neal's quizzical expression than anything else. They were warm and together, sheltered from the rain outside. It felt like the perfect start to a new, complicatedly perfect sort of life.

 

END


End file.
